Speaker 1: Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and bamfor Productions.
Speaker 1: When you're young and the weight of the world becomes
Speaker 1: too much to bear, your room is often the safest
Speaker 1: place for you to hide away. Whether it's a fight
Speaker 1: with your parents, a bully bothering you at school, or
Speaker 1: even just the desperate need for some time alone. With
Speaker 1: the door closed, surrounded by your favorite things, your room
Speaker 1: becomes a sanctuary for you and you alone. Sometimes, though,
Speaker 1: that changes. Do you know what it's like to have
Speaker 1: your safe place turn against you, to have your room
Speaker 1: become a prison that entraps you night after night, day
Speaker 1: after day, with nowhere else to turn to as a
Speaker 1: safety net. I do, and it started after we found
Speaker 1: the dark room in the basement. It has been six
Speaker 1: months since we moved into Lighthouse. The season's changed and
Speaker 1: we welcomed a new year. Nineteen sixty four didn't feel
Speaker 1: any different than nineteen sixty three, but a new year
Speaker 1: often brings new beginnings. I hope that would be the
Speaker 1: case for us, but that couldn't have been further from
Speaker 1: the truth. After the first night in Lighthouse, my sister
Speaker 1: and I lived in constant fear of the man in
Speaker 1: the hat, though he appeared at my doorway the first night,
Speaker 1: we often saw him elsewhere. Sometimes it was a quick
Speaker 1: glance out of the corner of our eye. Others he
Speaker 1: made himself fully known, his sinister smile making our hair
Speaker 1: stand on end as he disappeared around a corner. Despite
Speaker 1: telling our parents what we had experienced, mother didn't believe us.
Speaker 1: She blamed the incidents on us acting out, claiming we
Speaker 1: were not giving our new home a chance and trying
Speaker 1: to sabotage all that she and our father worked for.
Speaker 1: She thought we missed our old life, as if moving
Speaker 1: from hotel to motel every three months could be something
Speaker 1: someone could actually miss. She forbid us from even speaking
Speaker 1: of it. Her father often didn't respond with anything beyond
Speaker 1: a sullen nod in agreement with her. He looked distant
Speaker 1: during the conversation and didn't seem to want to contribute
Speaker 1: to it until one night when I found him in
Speaker 1: the study. When we moved into Lighthouse, the home was
Speaker 1: already furnished from days before. Various bits and pieces of
Speaker 1: furniture littered the house, often hastily covered by a sheet
Speaker 1: to keep from getting dusty. Over time, my mother had
Speaker 1: cleaned up and arranged every room to her liking, except
Speaker 1: for the study. My father insisted that be left to him.
Speaker 1: Truth be told, he didn't change much about it. There
Speaker 1: was a desk and matching chair off to the side
Speaker 1: of the room, along with another seating area. Hanging on
Speaker 1: the wall above the couch were various trophies from parent
Speaker 1: hunting trips from long ago animal heads, including a deer,
Speaker 1: a lion, and a bear. There were grotesque things that
Speaker 1: my mother hated, but my father refused to remove. Just
Speaker 1: below them was an ancient shotgun, presumably the very same
Speaker 1: gun that claimed the lives of those animals. Despite all
Speaker 1: the extravagant decor, the focal point of the room was
Speaker 1: actually the law large decorative easy chair. It was covered
Speaker 1: in red velvet and soft to the touch. A fireplace
Speaker 1: sat before it so one could sit in front of
Speaker 1: it on cold winter nights. Just above the fireplace was
Speaker 1: an old painting, one that my father said his mother
Speaker 1: had commissioned when he was a child. It shows his parents,
Speaker 1: his brother, and a younger version of himself. The portrait
Speaker 1: made them look regal, like royalty, and I was fascinated
Speaker 1: by it. On the night he finally acknowledged the things
Speaker 1: in lighthouse. I had just finished getting ready for bed
Speaker 1: and came downstairs to wish him good night. He was
Speaker 1: sitting in the easy chair, leaned back, drink in hand.
Speaker 1: I wouldn't have considered him a drinker, having only ever
Speaker 1: seen him touch alcohol once before, but it was obvious
Speaker 1: that he was already a few in by that point,
Speaker 1: evident by the half empty bottle beside him. His eyes,
Speaker 1: slightly glazed, were staring at the portrait intently. He was
Speaker 1: absent mindedly rubbing his scar. I don't think he even
Speaker 1: registered in my being there until after I gave him
Speaker 1: a kiss. I turned to leave when he suddenly grabbed
Speaker 1: my arm with such force that I yelped in surprise.
Speaker 1: My father had never laid a finger on me before,
Speaker 1: so I was caught off guard. I looked at him,
Speaker 1: his eyes refocusing on me as his words slurred from
Speaker 1: his lips. Stay away from the man in the hat.
Speaker 1: He stared hard at me for a few moments before
Speaker 1: letting me go, turning back to his drink. Did he
Speaker 1: know something I didn't? I was so shocked he even
Speaker 1: acknowledged it that I did not press him further on it. Instead,
Speaker 1: I went to bed and slept fitfully with the knowledge
Speaker 1: of my father, believing our claims our only solace in
Speaker 1: those early days came from an unlikely source. At first,
Speaker 1: I thought it was just a dream, a reoccurring one
Speaker 1: at that one that was hard to separate from reality.
Speaker 1: In the dream, I was still in my bed. Sometimes
Speaker 1: I lean was with me, curled up in the dark.
Speaker 1: Somewhere in the distance, unknown to me, I could hear
Speaker 1: a soft melody start to play. Its tune was hauntingly familiar. However,
Speaker 1: I could not place the sound. It sounded like something
Speaker 1: that might play out of a jewelry or a music box,
Speaker 1: with a slight tinniness to it. Instead of searching for
Speaker 1: its source, its soothing song would begin to lull me
Speaker 1: back to sleep, toward a dream within a dream, Until
Speaker 1: one night I realized that it was no dream. The
Speaker 1: music was real. I quickly got out of bed and
Speaker 1: listened attentively. At first I thought it was coming from
Speaker 1: a car traveling down the main road. Sound traveled funny
Speaker 1: along the bluff. I stepped out onto my balcony, the
Speaker 1: cool air coming off the ocean chilling my skin. I
Speaker 1: looked off to the lighthouse in the not so far
Speaker 1: distance and strained my ears to hear the melody, but
Speaker 1: out here was not as prevalent. Stepping back into my room,
Speaker 1: I closed my eyes to concentrate, doing my best to
Speaker 1: block out all other sound. I strained my ears to
Speaker 1: follow the melody. I moved about the area, playing a
Speaker 1: makeshift game of hot and cold, trying to find where
Speaker 1: in the room the music got louder. On the far
Speaker 1: side of the room, opposite my four poster bed, was
Speaker 1: where it was the loudest. Was it coming from the walls.
Speaker 1: On the floor below me was an ornate metal vent
Speaker 1: that I hadn't paid much attention to before, But now
Speaker 1: I dropped to all fours and placed my ear close
Speaker 1: to it. The music grew louder. Who was coming from
Speaker 1: somewhere in Lighthouse. I didn't know where yet, but I
Speaker 1: was going to find out Lighthouse Chapter two. The next morning,
Speaker 1: my sister came into my room to wake me. The
Speaker 1: first thing I saw was her smile as she excitedly
Speaker 1: tried to tell me that she had something for me. However,
Speaker 1: I was anxious to tell her of my discovery, and
Speaker 1: I spoke over her. The music isn't a dream I said,
Speaker 1: it's coming from inside the house. She frowned a bit,
Speaker 1: as eight year olds with a single minded purpose often
Speaker 1: do when their train of thought is derailed. When she
Speaker 1: didn't respond, I nudged her. It was then and I
Speaker 1: noticed she was hiding something behind her back. It was
Speaker 1: a card once she had decorated with flowers and a
Speaker 1: gigantic smiling son. Confused, I opened it and read in
Speaker 1: her crayon streaked handwriting what she had written inside. Happy
Speaker 1: Birthday to the greatest sister in the world. It was
Speaker 1: a birthday card for me. I had completely forgotten that
Speaker 1: it was my twelfth birthday. I wrapped her up in
Speaker 1: the biggest hug I had ever given anyone, and squealed
Speaker 1: with the light Thank you, Leney, this is the best
Speaker 1: birthday card I've ever gotten. What do you want to
Speaker 1: do today, she asked me. It's your special day. I
Speaker 1: smiled at her, because the previous night determined exactly what
Speaker 1: my answer was going to be. We made her way
Speaker 1: downstairs to the kitchen where my mother was preparing breakfast.
Speaker 1: She put a plate of bacon and eggs in front
Speaker 1: of me, arranged to look like a smiling face. Happy Birthday,
Speaker 1: birthday girl, she greeted me warmly. I enthusiastically dug into
Speaker 1: the meal as my response, knowing that I would likely
Speaker 1: need the energy for the day's mission. I think someone
Speaker 1: forgot to turn off the radio last night, my mother continued.
Speaker 1: I heard it in the middle of the night. It
Speaker 1: wasn't the radio, Mama, my sister said, we don't know
Speaker 1: where it's from. No need to make up excuses, my
Speaker 1: mother replied, just please try to remember to turn it off, okay, sweetie.
Speaker 1: Leey didn't argue beyond that, but instead asked about my
Speaker 1: father's whereabouts, causing my mother to frown. He's still sleeping,
Speaker 1: she told us, with a hint of sadness. He was
Speaker 1: up late last night in his study, but I'm sure
Speaker 1: he'll be down soon. I, however, did not wait for that. Instead,
Speaker 1: with a kiss on my mother's cheek and an assurance
Speaker 1: to my sister that I would be back soon, I
Speaker 1: ran upstairs to get ready for the day. I quickly showered, dressed,
Speaker 1: and pulled out the flashlight my parents got me in
Speaker 1: case of a power outage. I had never used it,
Speaker 1: so I clicked it on a few times to make
Speaker 1: sure it's still worked. When I was satisfied, I set
Speaker 1: out to find my sister, who was out playing. The
Speaker 1: grounds surrounding lighthouse were vast and prime for two young
Speaker 1: girls to explore, and those early months we covered every
Speaker 1: inch of the property, finding the nooks and crannies long
Speaker 1: lost to time. Though we were not allowed in the lighthouse,
Speaker 1: Lenie still played near it. Even if we wanted to
Speaker 1: get inside, we couldn't. The only entry was a door
Speaker 1: secured with the padlock, one whose key was nowhere to
Speaker 1: be found, at least according to my father, And after
Speaker 1: all the talk of how unsafe it was, we were
Speaker 1: afraid of the floor collapsing beneath us anyway. So there
Speaker 1: it sat, a reminder of days gone by, a relic
Speaker 1: of the past. I hadn't seen the light atop the
Speaker 1: lighthouse since our first night in the house. I didn't
Speaker 1: know what caused it, and because of how afraid Lenie
Speaker 1: already was that evening, I never told her about it.
Speaker 1: It was for the best. It was here that I
Speaker 1: found Lenie playing among the flowers growing at the base
Speaker 1: of the lighthouse. She was glad to see me, knowing
Speaker 1: I was ready to begin our mission, and followed me
Speaker 1: back to the house. Once inside, she ran to her
Speaker 1: room to grab her own flashlight while I waited a
Speaker 1: mind to tell her the plan of action I had formulated.
Speaker 1: She was taking unusually long as I was about to
Speaker 1: go get her myself, until I stopped dead in my tracks.
Speaker 1: Coming up from the vent in my bedroom again, I
Speaker 1: could hear it, the music box melody in the light
Speaker 1: of day. It was even more beautiful than I remembered
Speaker 1: it to be from the night before. My breath caught
Speaker 1: in my throat as I was entranced by it, but
Speaker 1: only for a moment. I quickly ran across the hall
Speaker 1: to Linie's room to tell her, but when I burst
Speaker 1: through the door, she was already leaning down toward the
Speaker 1: vent in her own room, attentively listening. It's in the vents,
Speaker 1: She told me it's coming from downstairs. She grabbed her
Speaker 1: flashlight from the dresser and followed me to explore the
Speaker 1: rest of the house. We opted to start on the
Speaker 1: first floor, as it made sense that the music was
Speaker 1: traveling up the vents to us, with Linie's starting in
Speaker 1: the dining room while I searched in the library. Every
Speaker 1: time we were near event, we stopped to listen and
Speaker 1: tried to determine if the music was louder or not.
Speaker 1: By the time I found myself outside my father's study,
Speaker 1: I realized he was inside. He must have awakened sometime
Speaker 1: during our search and was already sitting in his favorite armchair.
Speaker 1: I usually didn't like to disturb him, but being as
Speaker 1: how today was a special occasion, I tiptoed him. Good morning, father,
Speaker 1: I said, causing him to stir a bit in his chair.
Speaker 1: He turned to see me and only gave me a
Speaker 1: polite nod of acknowledgment before turning away. I waited to
Speaker 1: see if he would say anything, and when he didn't,
Speaker 1: I pressed further. It's my birthday, I told him. I'm
Speaker 1: twelve today. He turned again, now using his entire body
Speaker 1: and not just his head, and looked at me. So
Speaker 1: it is, he replied, Happy birthday. He raised his glass
Speaker 1: to me as I realized he was already drinking. It
Speaker 1: was not even ten am, and here he was already
Speaker 1: drowning in liquor. When he turned away again, I left
Speaker 1: the study upset that I did not receive warmer birthday,
Speaker 1: wishing I couldn't dwell on that for too long, though,
Speaker 1: as I still had a job to do. After about
Speaker 1: an hour or so of searching, my sister and I
Speaker 1: met in the kitchen. Neither of us had any luck
Speaker 1: so far, and we're feeling a little deflated. We sat
Speaker 1: down at the table to have a snack and formulate
Speaker 1: our next move. As we both took turns biting into
Speaker 1: an apple, the music continued to play from somewhere. It
Speaker 1: was beginning to drive me mad, not being able to
Speaker 1: figure it out. When we finished our apple, I brought
Speaker 1: our plate over to the sink to wash it and
Speaker 1: noticed that the music seemed to be louder. I looked around,
Speaker 1: trying to find event nearby, but to no avail. Looking
Speaker 1: to the left of the sink, the house is ancient
Speaker 1: dumb waiter sat on a whim. I opened its door,
Speaker 1: the metal grating from years of disuse. The melody wafted
Speaker 1: up the shaft into the kitchen. My sister and I
Speaker 1: looked at each other as we came to the same realization.
Speaker 1: It was coming from the basement. The entry to the
Speaker 1: basement was in the pantry just off the kitchen. We
Speaker 1: hadn't yet explored it since we moved in, but now
Speaker 1: seemed like the perfect time. The door swung open slowly
Speaker 1: with a horrific creek. It revealed the basement below us,
Speaker 1: darker than pitch lights, which proved to be fruitless. The
Speaker 1: bulbs likely hadn't been changed in years and were burnt out.
Speaker 1: Leni stood at the top of the stairs, looking down
Speaker 1: into the abyss. I could tell by the way she
Speaker 1: was staring that this might be the end of her journey.
Speaker 1: I'm scared, she admitted, her eyes never leaving the darkness.
Speaker 1: The music still wafted up from the shadowy depths below,
Speaker 1: like a siren song, calling out to us. It's okay,
Speaker 1: I told her, I can take it from here. I
Speaker 1: turned on my flashlight and aimed its beam down the steps.
Speaker 1: To my relief, everything looked surprisingly normal. However, I couldn't
Speaker 1: help feeling a bit of apprehension. As I took my
Speaker 1: first step downward, the wood groaned beneath my feet, and
Speaker 1: I hoped the wood wasn't rotted. I took the next step,
Speaker 1: and then another. Soon I was at the bottom of
Speaker 1: the stairs, my flashlight beam moving back and forth as
Speaker 1: I looked around. What do you see, Leney called out
Speaker 1: to me. Still standing in the doorway, A lot of junk,
Speaker 1: I replied, my father's family hoarded a lot of their
Speaker 1: belongings down here, it seemed. While the rest of the
Speaker 1: house was dusty when we first moved in, it was
Speaker 1: nothing compared to the basement. I remember my mother telling
Speaker 1: me that cleaning it out was a product for a
Speaker 1: rainy day. I moved cautiously in the darkness, not wanting
Speaker 1: to bump into anything or accidentally break something. The music
Speaker 1: continued to play, softly, coming from the left side of
Speaker 1: the room. The basement ran the length of the entire house,
Speaker 1: making it seem impossibly large, especially filled with so many things.
Speaker 1: Old furniture, large portraits, and boxes upon boxes made it
Speaker 1: a pseudo maze full of family memories. After some careful navigating,
Speaker 1: I found myself standing in front of a solid wall,
Speaker 1: or rather a wall with metal shelving lining the length
Speaker 1: of it. I stopped in my tracks and listened. Music
Speaker 1: still played, but it sounded more towards the right. I
Speaker 1: swung my flashlight in the direction and slowly walked that way,
Speaker 1: stopping every few steps to listen again. The source of
Speaker 1: the music was close, but where I looked at the
Speaker 1: metal shelf against the wall, and confusion taking a brief
Speaker 1: look around. There didn't seem to be anything of importance
Speaker 1: on the shelf itself, just a bunch of old junk
Speaker 1: and small boxes. Perhaps in the house this old the
Speaker 1: acoustics were playing tricks on me. Was it actually coming
Speaker 1: from somewhere else in entirely? I began to make my
Speaker 1: way back toward my sister when I heard a crash
Speaker 1: behind me. I quickly turned and directed my beam on
Speaker 1: the floor. Lying there was a box, one that had
Speaker 1: fallen near where I was just standing. Did I do that?
Speaker 1: Did I knock something off balance without realizing it, causing
Speaker 1: it to fall? Just beyond the box? I spot an
Speaker 1: old pair of shoes on their own. They wouldn't have
Speaker 1: caught my eye, but it looked like they were attached
Speaker 1: to a pair of pants. I slowly moved my beam up,
Speaker 1: and those pants turned into a man's overcoat. A feeling
Speaker 1: of dread formed in my stomach as my brain began
Speaker 1: to formulate that it wasn't just a random assortment of
Speaker 1: clothing bunch together in the dark basement, but rather something
Speaker 1: else entirely, someone else entirely. My flashlight beam continued its
Speaker 1: slow ascent up the coat as my dread continued to build.
Speaker 1: I was inches away from revealing the identity of this
Speaker 1: stranger in my basement, but in my heart I already
Speaker 1: knew who it was. A ghastly smile greeted me as
Speaker 1: my light fell upon it. The man in the hat
Speaker 1: was there. Lighthouse will return after these messages, and now
Speaker 1: back to lighthouse, I screamed, but through some sort of miracle,
Speaker 1: continued to hold my ground. When I exhausted all the
Speaker 1: air in my lungs, I stood frozen in fear as
Speaker 1: my eyes locked with those of the man in the hat.
Speaker 1: His smile never wavered, nor did his stance. He simply
Speaker 1: stared at me. With my first clear look at him.
Speaker 1: He looked to be in his late fifties. The flesh
Speaker 1: of his skin hung loose, as if he had started
Speaker 1: to deep compose, giving him an even more distressing appearance.
Speaker 1: His clothing, though once an immaculate condition, now was in
Speaker 1: the process of slowly falling apart, as if moths has
Speaker 1: started to make a meal of it. We were at
Speaker 1: an impasse, as neither of us moved a muscle for
Speaker 1: several moments. I was about to take a step backwards
Speaker 1: to get away from this horrifying specter. When the man
Speaker 1: in the hat turned his head toward the wall, his
Speaker 1: arm long and gaunt, lifted in unison as a single
Speaker 1: finger pointed toward the shelf I had been looking through earlier.
Speaker 1: At first, I wasn't sure what he was doing. I
Speaker 1: hesitated to get closer to him, but my curiosity was
Speaker 1: beginning to get the better of me. Was there something
Speaker 1: on the shelf he wanted, something he wanted me to see.
Speaker 1: I tried to think of what it could possibly be.
Speaker 1: When I heard the music once again. It sounded like
Speaker 1: it was coming from the direction of the shelf, and
Speaker 1: then it dawned on me the music wasn't coming from
Speaker 1: something on the shelf, but from behind it. I took
Speaker 1: a step forward to see what was there. When I
Speaker 1: felt a tap on my shoulder. I yelped and nearly
Speaker 1: jumped ten feet in the air. As I turned to
Speaker 1: see leaning my sister staring back at me. I heard
Speaker 1: you scream, she said, I thought you were hurt. Despite
Speaker 1: her fear of the dark, my sister made the trek
Speaker 1: through the basement to make sure I was okay. What
Speaker 1: was it, she asked, reminding me that the man in
Speaker 1: the hat was behind me. I turned in his direction again,
Speaker 1: using my light to show her the visitor, but instead
Speaker 1: he was gone. What are you looking for, she asked me, Nothing,
Speaker 1: I replied, but I think I found where the music's
Speaker 1: coming from. I went back to the shelf and pushed
Speaker 1: some boxes aside. There hidden behind the metal rack was
Speaker 1: a small wooden door. If not for the man in
Speaker 1: the hat, I never would have taken a second look.
Speaker 1: I considered trying to move the entire shelf, but it
Speaker 1: was next to impossible with everything still on it. I
Speaker 1: asked my sister to shine her light at the shelf
Speaker 1: while I started to remove boxes from it. One by one.
Speaker 1: I took them away and stacked them neatly near by.
Speaker 1: Among the things were artifacts from the days when the
Speaker 1: lighthouse was still in operation, a container of spark plugs,
Speaker 1: presumably for the light itself, a box of old clothing
Speaker 1: including a seaman's cap, and instruction manuals for various controls.
Speaker 1: There was more than I anticipated, and it took close
Speaker 1: to twenty minutes for me to finish. With the boxes removed,
Speaker 1: it was significantly easier to move the shelfing from its place.
Speaker 1: It wasn't long before the door was fully revealed. It
Speaker 1: wasn't until that moment that I realized the pit in
Speaker 1: my stomach had returned. Just an uncomfortable feeling at first,
Speaker 1: but it grew steadily creeping over me like an icy chill.
Speaker 1: My intuition was telling me that whatever was behind this
Speaker 1: door was something that was not meant for us. My sister, however,
Speaker 1: her bravery growing by the second, ran up to the
Speaker 1: door and placed her ear against the wood. She smiled
Speaker 1: as she looked at me. It's inside, she exclaimed. Before
Speaker 1: I could stop where she grabbed the doors handle. My
Speaker 1: stomach lurched as she did, anticipating the worst. It felt
Speaker 1: as if the world around us changed. Staring into the
Speaker 1: gaping blackness of this secret room, I felt a rush
Speaker 1: of stale air escape it, as if something was trapped
Speaker 1: inside for years and hurried out towards freedom. The dread
Speaker 1: I already felt inside me reached a breaking point, and
Speaker 1: it felt like an impressive force pressing down on my shoulders,
Speaker 1: like all the light in the world had gone out
Speaker 1: in a single instant, leaving us in a world of
Speaker 1: never ending darkness. Lenny was already inside the room, using
Speaker 1: her flashlight to search I crouched to enter the room
Speaker 1: as I was a hair taller than the door frame,
Speaker 1: and I felt something brush against my face. I momentarily panic,
Speaker 1: thinking I had walked into a spiderweb, only to find
Speaker 1: my hand hit a tiny metal chain. My mind registered
Speaker 1: it as connection to a lightbulb, and I gave it
Speaker 1: a gentle tug. The room illuminated in a deep red color,
Speaker 1: letting us see a little more beyond our flashlights. It
Speaker 1: wasn't that large of a space, maybe four feet by six,
Speaker 1: but I had a table with two large trays, along
Speaker 1: with another shelf filled with an assortment of things. Jars
Speaker 1: of some sort of liquid pelled to paper, and various
Speaker 1: other odds and ends sat on it above our heads.
Speaker 1: A line of string criss cross just beneath the ceiling,
Speaker 1: with clothes pins hanging from it. But what drew our
Speaker 1: attention before anything else was on the table itself, a
Speaker 1: small music box, the source of the mysterious music that
Speaker 1: plagued us for weeks. Its tiny gears turned as the
Speaker 1: song continued, It's intricate inner workings creating the haunting melody.
Speaker 1: My sister, entranced by it all, made her way toward
Speaker 1: it as her fingers brushed against its side. The music
Speaker 1: suddenly stopped. She pulled back for a second, startled by
Speaker 1: its sudden end, but then took it. Can I keep it?
Speaker 1: She asked me curiously. If this trinket locked inside this
Speaker 1: tiny room made her happy, then so be it. Besides,
Speaker 1: no harm could come from it, could it? With most
Speaker 1: of our curiosity now abated, I turned my attention to
Speaker 1: the rest of the room. For some reason, it just
Speaker 1: felt wrong. The red light wasn't helping that feeling, either,
Speaker 1: so I turned my flashlight back on and began to
Speaker 1: look over the shelves. On the very bottom were three
Speaker 1: large jugs with handwritten labels identifying them as developer, stop, bath,
Speaker 1: and fixer. These words activated a memory deep in my brain.
Speaker 1: When I was younger, I had developed an interest in photography,
Speaker 1: and my father taught me how people developed photos on
Speaker 1: their own. The jugs, the trays, and the red light
Speaker 1: all began to make sense. Now this was once someone's
Speaker 1: photography lab. It was a dark room. On the shelf
Speaker 1: above the jugs were spare cases of photopaper, along with
Speaker 1: a small camera. It was too dark to see the
Speaker 1: make and the model, but it looked to be in
Speaker 1: good condition. I slipped it into my pocket. If le
Speaker 1: he was going to walk away from this adventure with
Speaker 1: a prize, then why shouldn't I as well. Filling out
Speaker 1: the rest of the shelves were large volumes of photographs.
Speaker 1: I took one from its place and glanced through it quickly,
Speaker 1: not finding anything of interest, just photos of people looking
Speaker 1: just as disinterested as I was, accompanied by long pages
Speaker 1: of notes. As I went to return it to its shelf,
Speaker 1: something fell out of the back of the album. I
Speaker 1: saw it was a pair of records, both slightly smaller
Speaker 1: than forty five. They must have been tucked away, long
Speaker 1: forgotten by whomever put them there. I didn't recognize either
Speaker 1: of the artists, one of them being a single of
Speaker 1: Stay on the Right Side of the Road by Noraje
Speaker 1: Mayhem's and the Blue Chips, and the other called The
Speaker 1: Raggedy Man by Aida Jones and Edward Meeker. Unfortunately, the
Speaker 1: Aida Jones record chattered, but the other one seemed to
Speaker 1: be in one piece. For a twelve year old, finding
Speaker 1: these as treasure in a secret room was not very exciting.
Speaker 1: I put them back as my eyes scanned the rest
Speaker 1: of the album spines, all with various states from the
Speaker 1: early nineteen hundreds up to the late nineteen thirties. At
Speaker 1: the very top of the shelf was a dusty, old
Speaker 1: teddy bear. How he made his way into the dark
Speaker 1: room was beyond me, but he was far out of reach,
Speaker 1: so I ignored him. Closer at hand were a handful
Speaker 1: of loose photos just sitting on a shelf, as if
Speaker 1: they were meant to be placed in an album, but
Speaker 1: the person doing so never got around to it. Setting
Speaker 1: my flashlight down, I took the loose photos and began
Speaker 1: to look through them, leaning watching over my shoulder. To
Speaker 1: my surprise, most of them were of lighthouse. On the
Speaker 1: bottom of each someone had placed a small piece of
Speaker 1: tape on which they had written nineteen nine. We could
Speaker 1: only assume that it was when the photos were taken.
Speaker 1: Almost were taken from a distance. Some of the latter
Speaker 1: ones were closer. A few more showed off the property,
Speaker 1: especially the large tree out front. The one that caught
Speaker 1: my eye, though, showed the front of the house with
Speaker 1: a man standing out on the front porch. Who's that,
Speaker 1: Leanie asked as she leaned in. Those are trying to
Speaker 1: get a better look. She grabbed her own flashlight and
Speaker 1: illuminated the photo. We both gasped when we recognized who
Speaker 1: it was. It was the man in the hat. Lighthouse
Speaker 1: were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now
Speaker 1: lighthouse continues. I felt a sick feeling wash over me.
Speaker 1: I already knew that the man in the hats appearances
Speaker 1: were on the supernatural sort, but holding concrete evidence of
Speaker 1: his former life in my hand was something else entirely well.
Speaker 1: The quality of this photo was poor. I could almost
Speaker 1: see his eyes staring directly back at me. His ghastly
Speaker 1: smile seemed to grow wider the more I looked. I
Speaker 1: was only jolted out of this trance by something creaking
Speaker 1: above our head. We both looked up to see the
Speaker 1: red lights slow only swaying in an indiscernible breeze. It's
Speaker 1: light casting dark shadows in every corner of the room.
Speaker 1: Linie's flashlight began to fail, then it's bright center, blinking
Speaker 1: once twice three times before cutting out entirely. Mine, still
Speaker 1: sitting on the shelf nearby, followed suit. My sick feeling
Speaker 1: got worse, as if all the air in the room
Speaker 1: was sucked away in an instant. Suddenly, I felt a
Speaker 1: presence there with us. We were no longer alone in
Speaker 1: the dark room. I froze, not wanting it to sense
Speaker 1: us also, but I feared it was too late. Close
Speaker 1: your eyes, I whispered, hoping Lenie heard me. I closed
Speaker 1: mine as well, the darkness of my eyelids blocking out
Speaker 1: the red tinted darkness of the room. I didn't want
Speaker 1: to make another sound, but I wanted to help keep
Speaker 1: Lenie calm. I softly mouthed the words that formed in
Speaker 1: my head one, two, three, four five. Whatever was there
Speaker 1: with us, I felt its hot breath on my neck.
Speaker 1: I let the photos drop to the floor. Run, I
Speaker 1: screamed at her. I grabbed her hand, and we took off.
Speaker 1: We quickly navigated our way back through the basement mazes.
Speaker 1: We heard something step out of the dark room and
Speaker 1: hiss behind us. We didn't bother looking back. We were
Speaker 1: both too afraid, but we could sense it right on
Speaker 1: our heels. When we reached the basement steps, we took
Speaker 1: them two at a time, not wanting that thing to
Speaker 1: catch us. I stumbled over the last few, but Leany
Speaker 1: steadied me and helped pull me through the doorway. Once
Speaker 1: we were back in the pantry. I slammed the basement
Speaker 1: door shut, sliding the bolt in place with a satisfying click.
Speaker 1: We both collapsed against the door, breathing heavy but safe
Speaker 1: for now. We didn't tell our parents about the dark
Speaker 1: room nor the thing that chased us. My mother barely
Speaker 1: believed us about the man in the hat, and after
Speaker 1: what my father said about him, who knows how mad
Speaker 1: he would be about this. Instead, we made a pack
Speaker 1: to watch out for each other and keep it to ourselves.
Speaker 1: The rest of that day was fairly uneventful. I stayed
Speaker 1: in my room for most of it, trying to calm
Speaker 1: myself down from the earlier events and also examining my
Speaker 1: newly found birthday present to myself, the camera from the
Speaker 1: dark room. According to the label on its side, it
Speaker 1: was a Kodak to a autographic Brownie. It was a
Speaker 1: foldable camera, meaning that it's lenses came out like an
Speaker 1: accordion when you wanted to use it, and tucked away
Speaker 1: neatly when you did. Not. To my surprise, it's still
Speaker 1: had a few negatives left in it. I wasn't sure
Speaker 1: if they were still good or not, but I made
Speaker 1: it my mission to test it out. Later that evening,
Speaker 1: my mother made breakfast for dinner in honor of my birthday,
Speaker 1: and then I was treated to a delicious chocolate cake.
Speaker 1: My father stayed in his study for the duration of
Speaker 1: the celebration, except for when I blew out the candles
Speaker 1: on my cake. Reluctantly, he agreed to let me take
Speaker 1: a family photo with my new camera, even though he
Speaker 1: questioned where I had gotten it from. I only lied
Speaker 1: a tiny bit, telling him I founded in one of
Speaker 1: the many rooms of the house, leaving out its exact location.
Speaker 1: When he pressed further, my mother urged him to drop it,
Speaker 1: and with a grumble, he did, Being as how there
Speaker 1: was no time or on it. I had to be
Speaker 1: content with not actually being in the photo myself, but
Speaker 1: I was okay. My sister sat in from the birthday
Speaker 1: cake as my parents surrounded her on either side. With
Speaker 1: a single click, the photo was taken, and before I
Speaker 1: removed the camera from my eyes, my father was already
Speaker 1: to his study again. The rest of us ate our
Speaker 1: cake in silence. It wasn't until late that night, as
Speaker 1: I lay in bed, that I realized that the feeling
Speaker 1: of the house was shifting. Whether it was the way
Speaker 1: my father was secluding himself from us what we discovered
Speaker 1: in the basement, or a combination of both. Things were changing.
Speaker 1: From across the hall, I could hear Leaney switch on
Speaker 1: the music box. It's haunting melody no longer a mystery
Speaker 1: to us. Instead, it almost gave me a feeling of comfort.
Speaker 1: Despite that, my thoughts turned to the dark room and
Speaker 1: what had happened earlier. Someone had to have locked that
Speaker 1: room away, But for what reason? And who had left
Speaker 1: the music box there? Why had it begun playing on
Speaker 1: its own? And that thing we felt? What was it?
Speaker 1: Was it locked in there? Did we unwittingly set it free?
Speaker 1: I tried not to think about it as I began
Speaker 1: to drift off to sleep. My eyes grew heavy as
Speaker 1: the music box lulled me off into dreamland. I slept
Speaker 1: soundly that night, for the first time since we moved
Speaker 1: into Lighthouse, and I'm glad I did, because after that
Speaker 1: night everything changed. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart
Speaker 1: Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter two featured the voice of
Speaker 1: Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck, audio engineering,
Speaker 1: an original musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by
Speaker 1: Alex Gona executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you
Speaker 1: can reach us at the Man in the Hat is
Speaker 1: Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.